


home is such a lovely place

by evanescent



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfam Week 2017, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Robin, Sickfic, so much fluff i have nothing to say in my defense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 15:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanescent/pseuds/evanescent
Summary: “Did you feel bad going to sleep last night?”The question is innocent enough and he expected it, but Jason’s shoulders tense slightly as he drops his head down, staring at the comforter. It’s been months and he’s only growing more and more convinced that Alfred is actually omniscient, so this question may be Jason’s chance to admit the truth and minimize the fallout.“...No, I was fine,” he mumbles out, thinking about his wet Robin shoes laying under the bed.At the other hand, Jason knows he’sstubbornto the core....Jason's first time sneaking out to patrol doesn't go as planned. (He didn't mean toget sick, alright?)





	home is such a lovely place

**Author's Note:**

> listen yesterday i wasn't sure if i was going to post anything for batfamweek and now it's my third fic. you can tell i _really_ don't want to study for finals
> 
> for batfam week day four: hurt/comfort

Jason knows he sometimes tend to exaggerate, but when he wakes up, he really feels like he’s _dying_.

He stares blearily at the ceiling of his room, squinting when he realizes he hasn’t drawn the curtains and the morning light irritates his eyes. He’d get out of the bed to fix them, but it seems like too much effort; his limbs are heavy and breathing is hard. He does kick off the comforter, though, as he feels like sweating buckets under the warm duvet.

Two minutes later, he concedes it was a bad idea because he’s shaking from the shivers running down his body. He hides himself back under the comforter. _Five minutes more_ , Jason thinks tiredly.

Approximately four minutes later there’s a knock on his door and he hears it open. Alfred’s voice drifts to him. “Master Jason, it’s time to get up, you’ll be late otherwise.”

Jason knows his response is a rather undignified grumble as he proceeds to press his face into the pillow. Alfred’s steps are quiet as he approaches the bed. He clears his throat pointedly. “Master Jason,” he repeats, a hint of disapproval in his voice, but makes no move to pull the duvet down. Alfred knows better than that.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Jason gets out from under the comforter and sits down. His throat is itchy and Alfred is giving him a scrutinizing look that makes Jason shift in place.

“I don’t feel well,” he states finally and winces when his voice breaks at the last word.

“I can see that,” Alfred says, pushing some hair out of Jason’s forehead and briefly touching it with the back of his hands. His frown deepens. “You most definitely have a fever. Wait here, young sir, I will come back with a thermometer in a moment.”

Jason flops down on the bed, sighing. So that’s how sneaking out on a patrol by himself ends. And to think everything seemed to align so well! Bruce was currently in Canada on some Wayne Enterprises business, so that meant no patrol. But Jason was getting restless after a rather uneventful weekend and last night presented another opportunity, as it was the night of the month when Alfred washes the sheets from mostly unused rooms and is therefore too busy, and later too tired, to keep a strict eye on him.

Sneaking out wasn’t that hard and Jason didn’t even plan on doing full patrol since he had school in the morning. He just wanted to run his favorite route in the Old Town and come back, not pushing his luck. The fact he ended up at the docks where he was a witness to two kids, most likely homeless or runaways, fighting and one falling into the bay was an unplanned turn of events. He dived right in and pulled crying and flailing kid back to the surface; in moments like these, Jason regretted his utility belt could not carry a blanket or a towel. He had to settle for wringing out his cape to drape it over kid’s shoulders giving them some protein bars.

It wasn’t the kind of action Jason wanted from his solo patrol; he ended up soaked, cold and running late. Coming back to the Manor was a pain and he barely towelled himself off properly before collapsing into the bed. Now it seems he was going to pay a price for his unsupervised venture.

As promised, Alfred comes back and takes Jason’s temperature. When the thermometer beeps and Alfred cheeks it, Jason feels like he’s waiting for his execution.

“I’m afraid you’re staying in today, Master Jason,” the butler says mildly. “It’s far too high for comfort.”

“But Alfred!” Jason whines, sitting back in the bed. “School!”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Alfred agrees. “But if you miss a day or two it won’t be an end of the world. Your health is more important.”

“But we’re supposed to start discussing _The Little Prince_ tomorrow.” Jason knows he sounds as crestfallen as he feels.

Alfred lightly pats him on the shoulder. “I will fix a soup for you and bring some medicine. All you can do now is stay in bed.” He puts the thermometer on Jason’s nightstand. “Did you feel bad going to sleep last night?”

The question is innocent enough and he expected it, but Jason’s shoulders tense slightly as he drops his head down, staring at the comforter. It’s been months and he’s only growing more and more convinced that Alfred is actually omniscient, so this question may be Jason’s chance to admit the truth and minimize the fallout.

“...No, I was fine,” he mumbles out, thinking about his wet Robin shoes laying under the bed. 

At the other hand, Jason knows he’s _stubborn_ to the core.

The butler hums. “I see,” he replies, voice even. “Master Bruce is getting back from his trip on Thursday, but I shall inform him of your state. Rest.”

Jason tucks himself back under the covers, with his back to the door and eyes squeezed shut against the morning light. He should have asked Alfred to draw the curtains. He’s aching all over and wants to cry from frustration; Jason really _hates_ it sometimes when Bruce is right.

…

After taking meds and eating some soup, Jason still feels relatively bad, and also bored. Trying to start his History essay in his current state isn’t probably a good idea because he just ends up doodling on the margins. He tries to read, but gives up just after a few pages; his head hurts and he can’t concentrate.

He’s very close to falling into desperate sulking when Alfred comes back again, this time just with a tray of lemon scented tea in cups, if Jason’s nose isn’t failing him completely yet.

“I thought you may enjoy it, Master Jason,” he says, setting the tray next to the bed.

“Thanks, Alfie,” Jason says, but makes no move to reach for tea, holding onto his blanket instead and sneezing loudly.

Alfred must notice the book laying abandoned between the sheets because he asks, “Are you not well enough to read?”

“Not really,” Jason replies, rubbing at his eyes. He can’t tell if he’s sleepy or just bone-deep tired. There’s probably a difference between two.

“Shall I read to you, then?”

Jason regards the butler with as much focus as he can. It’s not a strange offer; he and Alfred read together just like Jason does with Bruce, but both men are usually fairly busy, both in different ways. He doesn’t want to hold Alfred back from whatever errands he must attend to, but.

“If you have time,” Jason says carefully, trying to make himself more comfortable in the bed.

Alfred smiles softly and reaches for the book. “I’ll always have time for you, Master Jason.”

And Jason is awake, listening to Alfred reading to him, his voice of an actor he used to be, until he isn’t.

…

Jason can tell this is a dream because he’s at his old apartment and his mother is alive.

Catherine doesn’t seem sick in this dream; actually, she looks quite content and healthy. She’s telling him a story as they recline on the worn-out couch, Jason’s head in her lap. She used to do that when he was sick, before things went completely bad; wrap him in blankets and tell him stories she made up because they didn’t own that many books. Trying to recall them now, Jason thinks they used to be rather cliche, and they always had a happy ending, even though they both knew by then that’s not how life works.

Being sick on the streets was different, he remembers, just a whisper of a thought, and there he’s again, in a cardboard box sitting by a trash container, so it’d be shielding him from the wind at least a little, even if the smell left a lot to wish for. Being sick on the streets could very well be the last time you ever got sick, especially when it was cold outside. People died often, he remembers, and it wasn’t dramatic; they just went to sleep, and never woke up again. (Not unlike his mother.)

Jason doesn’t like coming back here, even in his dreams, where he knows he’s safe in his paperboard box that shields him from the world, from the Batmobile parked in Crime Alley.

…

When Jason wakes up, there’s a comforting presence at his side that wasn’t here before. He cracks one eye open to make sure and croaks, “‘uce?’

“Hey, Jay-lad,” Bruce says, still dressed in a three-piece suit, sitting in Jason’s bed and running a hand through his hair which Jason can feel is all kinds of gross because of the fever.

“Thought you were coming back on Thursday,” Jason manages after clearing his throat. He frowns. “Is it Thursday ‘lready?” He couldn’t have slept for that long, could he?

Bruce chuckles at that; a low, pleasant rumble. “No, I decided to come back earlier after Alfred called me. It’s evening.” He moves some hair out of Jason’s eyes. “How are you feeling?”

Jason closes his eyes and just shrugs, unable to reply. His heart is thudding in his chest almost painfully as he realizes Bruce came back today because of _him_ , because he was worried.

“I brought you something from Canada,” Bruce says then. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, but I thought you can’t go wrong with--”

Jason doesn’t hear whatever Bruce says next because he tries to hold back a sob and fails, considering how Bruce’s hand in his hair pauses.

“Jay? Are you feeling worse?” he asks, sounding alarmed, and Jason doesn’t even try to fight the tears welling up in his eyes. He blames it on the dream, the memories. It’s too good here at the Manor, too good too last. He doesn’t _deserve_ it.

“I got sick ‘cause I sneaked out to patrol last night,” he chokes out miserably, opening his eyes but not looking at Bruce. “Some kid fell into the water at the docks and I jumped after him. I didn’t mean to get into trouble or stay out late, y’know.”

“Jason--”

“And it was me who deliberately made it that _Holding Out for a Hero_ played every time a member of the League tried to call you last week, not some glitch.”

“I know--”

“And I ate three of Alfred’s cookies before dinner on Wednesday even though I’m not supposed to--”

“Jason. Calm down.”

Gulping a breath, Jason risks a glance at Bruce. He doesn’t look angry or disappointed, which is a huge relief, but Jason can tell he’s not happy.

“The ‘no patrol on school night’ rule is in place for a reason, just like that you can’t patrol by yourself. One day, probably, but not yet. It’s all for your own good.” After Jason casts him a dubious look, Bruce sighs. “It _is_ , mostly. And for my own comfort. Going to the docks was dangerous, Jason, you know some of the shadiest Gotham business takes place there. And you could have drowned trying to save that boy. Up until fairly recently, you didn’t know how to swim.”

“I could be on a school team now, though,” Jason answers, petulant. He’s stretching it, probably; he isn’t _that_ good of a swimmer, but he knows how not to drown and handle panicked people in the water, alright.

“Nevertheless, you shouldn’t have gone out,” Bruce says, his words final. “Even if I wasn’t here, you realize you’d have made Alfred very worried, right?”

Jason puffs out his bottom lip and does his best to glare at Bruce. “This is a low blow.”

“I’m not above them sometimes,” Bruce agrees. He glances around Jason’s room. “Do you want to go downstairs and watch some movie?” he offers out of the blue.

Now, Jason is straight up suspicious. “I am not grounded?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go _that far_ , young man,” Bruce states, but the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly. “You’re sick, though. I think that warrants some feel-good time.”

Jason pretends to think about it for a moment. “We could do that, I suppose,” he decides graciously and ducks his head when Bruce ruffles his hair again, saying he’s going to change and they can start.

All in all, his first lone escapade could have ended worse, Jason supposes.

**Author's Note:**

> you can pry precious nerdy robin jason and lowkey* overbearing and awkward dad bruce out of my cold, dead hands  
> (*i say lowkey but there's not a thing that bruce wayne does lowkey because he's extra and dramatic like that so you know)


End file.
